Kamal broke the uneasy silence by asking him, “How is it that you speak our language so well?”
The question elicited an even more stumped look from the bearded man, but before he could reply, a series of explosions rocked the room. They were deep growls that rumbled in from somewhere near and were much bigger than anything they’d felt since they’d landed in the city.
The blasts shook the ground under them, cracking the walls and ceiling and showering them with dust and debris. Kamal grabbed Nisreen and pulled her close to shield her from danger. And although he didn’t know what had caused it, a crippling worry instantly seared through him: that the Ottomans’ plans had changed, that he and Nisreen were too late, and that the city was about to fall.
61
Kamal hugged Nisreen protectively as the bearded man and his men exchanged panicked outbursts in their foreign tongue.
“What was that?” Kamal asked him.
He ignored the question and just jabbed a finger back at him. “Don’t move.”
“What was that?” Kamal insisted.
The man’s jawline tightened; then he relented and said, “Mines. Big ones.”
For those trapped in the city, the constant, and greatest, psychological terror they faced was not knowing where under the city’s defenses the Ottoman sappers were burrowing or when the next explosion would happen—the one that could open the floodgates to the invaders.
A man ran into the room, his emaciated face riveted with fear. He was breathless and waved his arms as he fired off his words.
Whatever it was he was saying did not sound uplifting.
The bearded man gave him a short reply, nodded to his men, then rushed out of the room. Two of the others barked orders to Kamal and Nisreen and shoved them to the ground, positioned so they had their backs turned to each other. They then proceeded to tie their hands behind their backs with a length of rope. Once they were done, they rushed out of the room, locking it from the outside and leaving them in darkness.
“Are you alright?” Kamal asked her.
“I’m fine.” She was tugging at the rope, but it wasn’t loosening. “Can you untie us? I can’t find the knot.”
Kamal’s fingers were already working at it, but without success. “It’s too tight. It won’t give.”
“We can’t stay here. We need to make another jump.”
“We can’t read the tattoos like this. Do you remember the whole thing?”
Nisreen went silent for a moment. “I can’t be sure. I didn’t have time to work out the adjustment to less days before we had to jump.”
“Bok,” Kamal cursed, then grunted under the strain, but he still couldn’t loosen the rope. “It’s too tight,” he told her. “Try raising and twisting your arm. Maybe I’ll be able to read it.”
Nisreen adjusted her position to bring her arm out. “That’s as far as I can go. Can you see it?”
Kamal twisted around, then leaned out, contorting his body to try to read the incantation off Nisreen’s forearm, but, no matter what he tried, he couldn’t get a fix on it. “I can’t. You try.”
Nisreen leaned to her right.
“Other side,” Kamal told her. “It’s on my right arm.”
She bent the other way and craned her neck as far as it would go.
“I can’t see it either,” she hissed. “It’s too dark anyway. I can hardly see anything.” The only light in the storeroom was a faint glow from a torch that was filtering in from under the door. “This is ridiculous. As soon as we can, we need to find the time to memorize this bloody incantation once and for all. We need to be able to jump without having to read it each time we’re in a jam.”
“You planning on doing this often then?”
“Ideally, no. But I’m not too crazy about hanging out here any longer than we have to.”
They settled back and took in deep breaths.
Kamal could feel the pounding of her heart through his back. He was still processing something he’d sensed earlier. “Maybe there’s no point in jumping off again,” he told her.
“Are you nuts? They were about to flay us. I mean, my God … these people—they’re all savages, on both sides. Did you see what was going on out here?”
“I know. It’s … it’s just insane. But—”
“It’s one big slaughterhouse. What were we thinking?”
“We knew what we were getting into.”
“And these people,” Nisreen said. “These poor people, reduced to living like animals, scrounging for rats … It’s beyond horrific. It’s … inhuman.”
“It’s war.”
“I know. I just didn’t imagine it would be this barbaric. I mean, I knew it, but…” She sighed and rested her head back on his shoulder.
“No one should be subjected to this,” Kamal agreed. “We have to help them.”
“We’ve got to get out of here first.”
“Well, I’m thinking maybe we’ve got a chance. I think I got through to this guy.”
“The one who brought us here?”
“Yes. I think he believes us. Which means maybe we shouldn’t jump. We need him. It would make it a hell of a lot easier to convince Sobieski that we’re telling the truth. If we jump, we’ll be on our own. We’ll be starting from scratch.”
“But at least we’ll know what to expect.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. There’s still a lot we don’t understand about how this works. We jump back a day, what happens the day after, when we first arrived? Would there be two of us? Do we just disappear?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned. “I don’t think one day or ten would be any different from now anyway. We’d still be in the thick of it.”
“So it would have to be longer. A hundred days,” Kamal said, recalling the third of the safety numbers that Nisreen had translated into Palmyrene and had tattooed alongside the full incantation.
“Which would take us back to early summer, well before the siege. It would give us plenty of time to prepare.”
“But we talked about this,” he told her. “It’s dangerous. We have to cause as little disruption as possible, come in as late in the game as we can. We could inadvertently change things, which could cause Rasheed to change his plans. Then we wouldn’t know how to stop him. Plus, we’d have to actually live out those hundred days here, in this time, since we don’t know if you’ve figured out the forward travel incantation correctly.” He ground over it some more. “No, I think we’re better off staying. We have a chance to make it work.”
“What if this guy doesn’t come back? What if he dies out there and the others take us back to the wall?”
“Then we’ll have to find a way to read the spell and say it very, very quickly,” he replied.
She frowned. “I don’t like it.”
“I’m telling you, I think we have a chance with this guy,” he insisted. “Which is half the battle. There’s no point risking everything again. A hundred days is a long time to survive out here with no history. We don’t even speak the language.”
Nisreen didn’t reply.
“Do I at least get a maybe?”
She let out a small, mocking breath. “Maybe.” Then she nodded as his words sank in. “No, you’re right. But if they take us up the wall again, I’m not letting them do it to me. I’m jumping off.”
“No one’s going to hurt you, hayatim,” he told her.
This time, there was no snort of derision. She just slumped down, leaned back, and rested her head on the back of his shoulder again.
“I wish I could be as certain of that as you are, canim.”
* * *
A few hours must have passed before they finally heard the rattle of a key in the lock.
The bearded man appeared, this time with two different escorts. His face was pulled tight with anger and anxiety, and he was sweaty and breathing hard. His outfit was also heavily splattered with blood. He looked as if he’d been dragged through the pits of hell.
“What happene
d?” Kamal asked him.
He didn’t reply at first. He was just studying Kamal through hooded, suspicious eyes. “They sprung several mines under the Löbl,” he finally said. “Then they charged.”
Kamal felt his blood go hot. “Are they in?”
“No, which is a miracle. They had waves of fighters hurling themselves at the breach, but the ruins of the collapsed wall were very difficult to climb, which is why we were able to hold them back.” His eyes took on a haunted air. “But only at a huge cost.”
“What happens now?”
He pulled off his hat and ran a filthy hand through his hair. “They’ll try again. We’re reinforcing the curtain wall. It’s our last line of defense. After that, it’ll be block-to-block street fighting.”
A somber silence smothered the room. The bearded man bent down to a squat so he could face them properly. He was studying them intently, his expression locked in an irritated scowl. He seemed both weary and conflicted about something.
He eyed Kamal and said, “I speak Croatian.”
It took Kamal a couple of seconds to get it, and his eyes flared with understanding when he did. But before he could react, the man grabbed ahold of his arm brusquely and pulled up his sleeve, exposing the tattoos. He pointed at them angrily. “That’s not Croatian.”
Kamal’s pulse rocketed, but he didn’t reply. He was cornered and just sat there as the bearded man’s glare burned into him.
“You think you can make a fool of me with your fantastical stories?” the bearded man raged.
“Sobieski and his men are near,” Kamal fired back. “They can save you. But if you do nothing, they are going to be killed. We came here to try to stop that from happening. That’s all that matters.”
“They’re nowhere near here,” the bearded man growled.
“How do you know that?”
“I know because I’ve been out there looking for them,” he roared. “I was even out there last night. There’s no sign of them”—then regret flooded his face, and his jaw tightened, and he held back from saying anything more.
Kamal’s eyes widened with surprise. He had read about how the Ottomans and their Tartar allies had captured several scouts and couriers disguised as Ottomans who were carrying coded messages about the siege to the emperor.
His captor was one of them. Only he’d managed to make it back safely. “You’ve been out? You’ve been outside the walls and back?”
The bearded man didn’t reply. He was inches from Kamal’s face, his eyes twin cauldrons of rage and frustration. Then he pushed himself to his feet, towering over them. “Who the devil are you?” he rasped. “Tell me the truth.”
“We’ve told you why we’re here,” Kamal countered. “Why would we lie about that? What possible advantage would it give your enemies?”
“It might distract us. And if Sobieski was really out there, it might divert his focus from the battle that needs to take place.”
“Then we’d have gone straight to him, as you said,” Kamal replied, his tone firm and steady. “Why would we be here, in his hellish place? Stripped naked and about to be skinned alive?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re here to kill the count or blow up the arsenal. It could be anything. But I’ll get to the truth. Count on it.”
The man made a move to leave the room, but Kamal called out to him. “Wait. Listen to me.”
The man hesitated, then turned.
Kamal mustered a final surge of conviction. “Torture us if you like. Do what you need to do, but you’re only going to get the same answers. And we’re running out of time. More lives than you can imagine depend on what happens next. Not just here and now, but in the months and years to come. I could tell you the whole truth about us, but one of two things would happen. You wouldn’t believe us, but even if you did, everyone else would think you were either crazy or in league with us. And either one would be disastrous, because it would mean the end of this city and of Europe as you know it. So I implore you instead to focus on one thing and one thing only, which is the conclusion you need to draw from all this: we’re here to help save you and save this city and save the rest of Europe, which means saving Sobieski and Lorraine and their army. If we move fast, we just might be able to pull it off. But it all depends on what you do. It’s your decision. I just hope you make the right one.”
An eternity of loaded seconds passed between them, the bearded man visibly struggling to divine whether to trust his two prisoners, and Kamal willing him to do so. Then the man fired off another blunt command to his men and stormed out of the storeroom.
His men followed him out, leaving Kamal and Nisreen locked in and alone once more.
“Still think you convinced him?” Nisreen asked.
* * *
A couple more hours passed before someone came for them.
By then, they were aching from being tied together and weakened by hunger and thirst, but anxiety and adrenaline were fueling them. Both sensed the moment of truth galloping toward them, and its heralds appeared through the doorway and pulled them to their feet.
The bearded man wasn’t among them, which didn’t bode well. Nor did the brusque manner with which they were untied from each other and jostled out of the cellar, their wrists still bound behind their backs.
“Where are we going?” Kamal asked, but he got no reply. And although he didn’t think the men spoke his language, he asked again, and still got no response.
They were escorted up the stairs and onto the ground floor. The light filtering in from outside was a blazing orange, and Kamal couldn’t tell if it was coming from the setting sun or the flames of a raging fire. He felt a rising dread and glanced at Nisreen as they neared the entrance hall. Her eyes were alight with fear, even as she was clinging to defiance.
As they were being marched off, ghastly images of being back on the rampart and what was in store for them rushed to his mind. But just as quickly, the fear gave way to relief as they were ushered not out of the building but up the monumental curved staircase that led to the first floor.
They were led through a set of tall doors to reach a large room at the back of the building. It was lit by a couple of oil lamps and still had traces of lost elegance—moldings and cornices on the walls, a huge, elaborate ceiling rose—and had probably been the setting for some elegant gatherings in better days. Presently, it was as decrepit as the rest of the city, with dust and debris littering its floor and planks boarding up its windows.
What it did still have was a large carved wooden table with a winged chair behind it and four armchairs facing it. The table was strewn with maps and other documents.
The bearded man was standing next to one of the chairs, facing them.
Straining to get up from the winged chair behind the desk was a tall wiry man with a long aquiline nose and a small, upturned moustache. Kamal was quick to recognize him from his readings about the siege: Count Ernst Rüdiger von Starhemberg, the military commander of the city and the man the emperor had charged with defending it.
Neither of the two men looked pleased to see them.
62
Starhemberg didn’t look well.
The only images Kamal had seen of him were portraits that had been done before the siege, engravings and oil paintings that showed the count at the peak of his glory. The siege had taken a heavy toll on the forty-six-year-old count. He had been wounded in battle early on and was, by now, also suffering from repeated bouts of dysentery. He was barely mobile and had to be carried to the walls to oversee the battles. Yet despite his condition and the scruffy wig he wore now that he wasn’t in the thick of battle, not to mention the battered jackboots that hadn’t seen polish for months, Starhemberg still possessed an air of unmistakable authority. He was an aristocrat and a military man through and through, and a mere battle injury or a life-threatening illness weren’t going to undermine his dignity or his stature.
Starhemberg nodded to the bearded man, who turned to his prisoners.
&nb
sp; “Sit,” he ordered them.
Kamal and Nisreen each took a seat facing the large table.
Still standing, Starhemberg scrutinized them. He had the fierce gaze of a fighting man, and Kamal felt uncomfortable under it. He had read all about how brilliantly the count had defended the imperial capital, and he felt intimidated by him. He also felt unsettled by something else: the realization that he was sitting there, face-to-face with this brilliant general, all while knowing that, as things stood, the man would soon be dead. He would be captured when the city fell and put to the blade, and his head would be gifted to the sultan—all things he knew but couldn’t share aloud.
Starhemberg had been appointed by Charles of Lorraine to lead the defense of the city. He arrived in Vienna one day after the emperor and the rest of the city’s wealthy residents had fled and had only one week to shore up the city’s defenses and prepare for the Ottoman onslaught.
Once the siege began, his tactics were highly effective at frustrating the enemy and repelling them. Displaying great skill and leading counterattacks himself, he earned the full respect of those trapped there with him, but it was a losing battle. Weeks of relentless attacks had sapped their morale, and the overwhelming forces facing him, starvation, and dysentery had decimated his ranks. Out of an initial force of eleven thousand men, already outnumbered fifteen to one at the onset of the siege, only four thousand Austrian soldiers were still standing. Lesser men would have long since surrendered, but Starhemberg knew there was no point, not when the result would be certain death. Fighting it out and dying defending the city were far preferable to suffering the Ottomans’ infamously inventive ways of inflicting a long, slow death.
The count asked something of the bearded man, who turned to them and introduced his leader. Kamal and Nisreen both responded with courteous bows, and then Kamal asked him, “What about you? What is your name?”
The bearded man hesitated, then said, “My name is Georg Kolschitzky.”
Which somewhat surprised Kamal. “You’re not Austrian?”
Empire of Lies Page 40
